


Angels

by XXCattyCastielXX



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adoption, First Person, Kuron has sensory anxiety, M/M, a backstory for kuron, a love story?, bad families, but what's new, decent brothers, how kuro met kuron, kuro is a jackass, kurons background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 08:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XXCattyCastielXX/pseuds/XXCattyCastielXX
Summary: Kuron was just a young boy when he was thrown into the adoption system, and the man that adopted him was supposed to be his savior but that was far from the case. There was one boy that would teach him how to survive but when he leaves Kuron is screwed. Literally.Kuro was just the average player, he slept with who he wanted when he wanted and no one could tell him otherwise. Kuro lived his life to the fullest but drinking, sleeping around and living one hell of a party every day. All till he ran into a man on the street.





	1. Fallen Angel

When I was a child, my parents gave me away. From a very young age, I was alone for the only reason that I wasn’t what they wanted. I was too much for them to handle and because of that, they got rid of me. I was put into a home for children, and by the age of seven, I was adopted out to this older man. 

Now at the time, I thought he was going to be what I needed. I believed that he would give me a home, feed me and give me somewhere to sleep that wasn’t ratty and filled with bugs, somewhere that didn’t have forty other kids all in the same room and a place where I didn’t have to worry about getting enough food. Someplace I wasn’t ‘too much’. 

I was wrong. 

At the time I didn’t know why he did it. Truth be told I wasn’t even completely sure what he did to me but I just know I wasn’t quite the same from then on. 

When he first brought me ‘home’ it was a small house. Not even really a house, the paint was falling apart and the glass wasn’t clear. It was in shambles and the front yard was dead and full of weeds. But to me, it was a castle. It was so much more than the home was and I would learn to regret thinking that. Because walking into the house it smelled like smoke, something sour and bitter. There was little furniture and what was in the house was old, broken and in pieces. 

He lived there with two other men about his age. The other two shared a room with two girls younger than me and the man had his own at the end of the hall. I wasn’t allowed in his room ever unless he brought me in. I shared a room with three other boys, one was younger than me and the other two were older by a few years. 

We all ended up with a similar mental age, however. 

I made friends with the oldest boy, he became like a brother to me. He shared his meals with me, cared for me when I would get sick. He used to take me out into the forest a few blocks away to catch frogs and spiders. I got bit once and he helped me through it. And anytime the man would come into our room he’d get up and go with him. 

It was like that for a while, the youngest boy didn’t speak ever. He would sit in the room day in and day out and just sit there. He wouldn’t move or talk, he didn’t eat. At least he never did when I was around. And the other boy I never got to know well enough. He would always be in the room with the other two men and only would be with us late at night. 

The two girls I didn’t know much about. Their room was like ours but it felt so much bigger since it was just the two of them and not four. They didn’t share beds and actually were sweet. I would sneak into the room with them to play from time to time. 

One time, the oldest boy and I snuck out into the town and bought them dolls from the dollar store with the money we took from the man. That day we drank hot cokes and ate melted snickers bars. We wandered around town, scaring the pigeons and watching the families walk around. 

We would tell each other how one day that would be us. With a mom that would hug us and a dad that would play catch with us. 

That day he told me he was leaving. And how I would have to defend myself, how I’d have to go with the man into his room and just deal with what happens. He didn’t tell me what would happen, just that I’d never been the same. 

At the time I didn’t think much about it, I didn’t know what he meant by that till he really did leave. I had the bed all to myself but from that day on the bed was the scariest place in the world. As the day he left, that was the night that the man came into the room and took me into his. 

I was sore for days, I was bruised in places I didn’t know could bruise. I couldn’t sit for what felt like weeks, the boy that was never in there gave me these little white pills to ease the pain. They helped a little but never really did make it better. 

I remember that wasn’t the last time he took me. It got easier to deal with as time went on but every time a piece of me was lost. Every time his touch would make me sick and eventually anyones touch would make me jump. I felt sick to my stomach most days, felt like I couldn’t wash myself. I felt dirty, I felt wrong. Like I had done something wrong and couldn’t undo it or apologize for it. 

When I turned twelve he told me I’d have to go. I couldn’t stay there anymore and I’d have to find my own place. By then the two girls had left and been replaced and I was now the oldest boy. The other had long since left and two more had been put into the room with us. 

I was still young, but I didn’t feel like a kid anymore. I didn’t go to school, I couldn’t read very well nor could I talk to other people. I left in the middle of the night, I didn’t have much with me which made things easy on me. 

I can’t tell you how long I was out, It must have been a few months of me just wandering the streets of the town and the backroads. I got rides from nice old women and a few farmers. They took me town to town till I ended up at the doorstep of a small apartment complex. An old woman took me in. 

At first, I didn’t talk, I’d flinch anytime she’d touch me. For days I couldn’t sleep for fear that she’d walk into my room and drag me into her own. But she never did. She was sweet to me, she never asked my story, instead she cared for me. The women made coffee every afternoon, she would put a bunch of milk in mine and little coffee. She made cookies and had this old ginger cat. I called her Mama after a while. Mama was the best person I had ever met, she gave me my own room with a clean bed and handmade blankets. She would tuck me in at night, making sure to never touch me. Mama would bring water to me before bed and make sure I brushed my teeth. 

Mama taught me to read, she explained the news to me and would have me recite to her what the subtitles said. I would read the newspapers to her for practice and the books she had on her shelves that were yellow with age. Mama taught me math and how to pick apart sentences, she taught me her favorite poems and what they were made of. Books and learning became a way for me to cope, to put everything behind me. 

I stayed with her for years before I told her what had happened. I explained to her my parents and the home, I told her about the men I had lived with and she understood. She opened her arms up and said in a soft voice, “Kuron it’s not okay what happened to you, but there is no future if you can not forgive your past”. Those words stuck with me. That was the first day I hugged her without getting sick or pulling away out of fear. 

Mama got sick when I turned eighteen. She got really sick, she told me I shouldn't cry for her. She told me that this was for the better and I was the son she never had. Mama was the family I never had. 

I stayed in the apartment, I got myself a job and stayed there for years. It became my home and my safe place. It was where I could stay with Mama. I read the new out-loud like I would to her, I would read her favorite poems in the silly voices she used to do. Every afternoon I’d make coffee and sit at the old round oak table and drink it in the silence. I would put on the old records she had and clean the house, or read the yellowed books and listen to it. 

I got a cat, a small ginger kitty like the cat Mama used to have. She was something to read to, someone to talk to and explain my day. I didn’t talk to people much during the day, Kitty was the only one I talked too much. 

Eventually, I cleaned out her room and moved into it. My room became a guest bed with those handmade blankets and pretty paintings on the walls. Her room was larger, it smelled like candy and dusty soaps but to me, that was the best smell in the world. Her bed was soft and large and had pieces of soap under the sheets. Her fan creaked and the door didn’t fit right on the hinges letting in the hallway light. It was the best place in the world. 

I never could forgive my past like she wanted me to. I couldn’t move on from what had happened, always remember those days. A part of me was still in that room, scared and terrified of when the door would open. I could never clean myself of his touch and at night I’d wake up anytime Kitty would jump on the bed, I’d wake up scared thinking it was him again. 

It never was but I was never sure. 

I lived like this for years, alone with Kitty in Mama’s apartment. I didn’t go out much and when I did people would run into me. I would always feel bad when they did as whenever they’d bump into me I’d freeze up. This one guy dropped his phone because of me and I did nothing to help, I just stood there alone. 

That same guy showed up a few days later, he was in the apartment complex and I invited him in. I felt bad about the other day and took him in for afternoon coffee. I poured a lot of milk into his and little coffee as I assumed that’s how most people drank it. He didn’t seem to complain. We sat there like that, and even then I couldn’t talk to him. I couldn’t talk to any man I didn’t know as I was afraid they’d put their hands on me. 

I was scared to be touched by a man, by anyone. 

That guy didn’t show up again, a part of me was relieved of it but also a bit worried. Maybe he didn’t care and just forgot about me. I tried to shake the thoughts and it never worked, I’d go out late at night for soda at the bar just down the block. The cold air felt nice on my face, it was one of the only times I felt clean. Like the cold would freeze away all the pain and filth that built up like dust from over the years. 

I saw that guy again at the bar one night, he asked for what I was drinking and he spits the soda out all over the place which made me laugh. I hadn’t laughed at what had felt like ever, but that did it for me. I introduced myself to him and for hours we sat and talked. About anything and everything. 

For hours I talked to someone other than Kitty, I talked to a man nonetheless. Though he didn’t know of my past, he didn’t know my boundaries or that I didn’t speak much I didn’t think about it. Something about him had me forgetting about it. He made me feel happy, he made me laugh. 

I felt human with him.


	2. Guardian Angel

Everything has a meaning. Every little shooting star, the whistle of the wind and hum of the bee. Each song the birds sing in the early mornings and cooes of the doves in the late afternoon when the sun begins to hang heavy in the sky. Every shadow cast by the looming willows and towering oaks. They all have a purpose, whether that be to block the sun’s brusque rays, to bring pollination to the flowers so they can bloom beautifully or to be wished upon before burning up in the atmosphere. It all has a purpose, meaning. 

And Kuron was no different. 

I met kuron by accident. It was a cool afternoon, the air and wind was especially rash that day. I had to keep fixing my hair again and again due to it blowing out of place. I went to check my phone, to put a note on myself to get a better, a stronger hair gel when I bumped into him. 

Now now, don’t get me wrong. This wasn’t one of those ‘I saw him and knew he has meant for me’ no it wasn’t like that at all. Truthfully I dropped my phone from bumping into him and he just froze. He didn’t say a thing or help or apologize. He just stood there, looking like he saw a ghost or something. I swear the poor guy lost all color in his face, literally pale as a ghost looking terrified. And at the time, I thought nothing of it. I grabbed my phone, brushed off scoffed and walked off. That was that. 

I didn’t think of the guy again for a few days, completely slipped my mind that the guy even happened. I got so wasted a few nights that week, woke up with this guy and chick in some place I didn’t know. Probably should have introduced myself but I just left. Typical Tuesday right? 

But as I was leaving the apartment building, holding my jacket over my shoulder and again checking my phone I heard a voice. They said something but the head was still buzzing a little from the previous night. I couldn’t place what they had said so I turned around and there he was. That same guy I bumped into those few day prior. 

He was standing in the doorway to one of the apartments on the first floor, his arm was outstretched but as soon as our eyes met he dropped his hand and shoved it into his hoodie pocket. He must have just woken up due to the fact it was five something in the morning and his hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days. 

He blankly stared at me for a few moments, I wasn’t sure what to do but I was still fuzzy in the head and walked up to him. I recall he invited me in, or I invited myself in. It doesn’t matter too much really, what does matter was how he served coffee to me. We sat at a small round oak table and just sat there. He said nothing, I said nothing. We just drank coffee in silence. 

I don’t normally do things like that. I do in fact walk up to people but even now I still don’t know why or how we ended up there. Or why I stayed to finish the coffee. I would have just gotten up and left, like how I normally do. But there was something about his presence that was soothing. Maybe the way that the house smelled like maple and coffee and everything looked like it was from a grandma’s house. It was calming in an odd way. 

I hated it. 

There’s not much I remember from then on. If we did say anything to one another the words have been lost in the sands of time, did I leave or stay longer? Was I so drunk that he sent me away or did we just sit in silence for hours like that till leaving? Who knows really. It was so long ago I’m surprised I even remember that much of the story. 

I know I didn’t see him again for months. But unlike the last time, he didn’t vanish from my thoughts, from my head. He was always there somewhere. Even if those thoughts were in a drunken haze, a lustful dream or just bored thoughts. He and that ratty old hoodie and his knotted hair always came back into my head. The way his eyes were so glazed over and dull, lifeless almost but so soft and gentle like an old dog in his last days. The way he would gaze down into his coffee mug and smile faintly, a smile that was broken and had seen better days. 

I never went to find him. I never found out his name or bothered to care about who or what he was. I cared not of why we sat and drank coffee in the silence or why I stayed. It passed my mind till it was no more than a ‘did it really happen’. 

Life went on. I went out, I slept my life away with beautiful women and handsome man that would fall victim to my grin. But they were all props to me, just objects that I knew I’d never had to see again. People I’d never have to open up to, who would never want anything more from me than a lustful night where we both could forget the outside world in exchange for some fun. That’s all I needed. 

I remember this one woman, Rose I believe her name was. She was a stunning woman and played me like a harp. She wrapped me around her finger, had me begging for more of her. She was a handsome woman, knew what she wanted and she took it without hesitation or apologizing for it. I happened to be one of her victims. 

Little by little though, those nights grew boring. They got predictable and I stopped caring. I went numb. The alcohol no longer gave me that friendly tingle, the cigarettes stopped bringing the smiles to my lips and breath to my lungs. The women grew annoying and the men were assholes. No one was fun anyone, I knew what they would say before they said it. 

I was going through the motions of my life without really living it anymore. I always told myself to live in the moment, I did. At least I thought that living in the moment was how I went about my life but that was far from the truth as things started to lose their vest. I lost that elan flare I once had in myself. 

And that’s when he showed up in my life again. It was a colder night, the wind was harsh on my face but it didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t feel the cold anymore, it just felt like sand against my face. The lights were flickering on above me, those street lamps that gave off the most unflattering orange glow that would suck out all the color from your clothes. Thankfully the bar was right there. 

It was late like I had said but I can’t stress how late it was enough. Walking into the bar I was hit with the overwhelming smell of whiskey and cheap beer. The aroma of heaven itself. My steps were heavy, they echoed on the peanut shell covered floors. Now since it was so late, I was one of the only people in the bar well besides the man at the bar, the two hookers sitting in the very back booth and a small group of younger men at a pool table who were obviously wasted. 

I can’t tell you how I remember that. But for some reason around memories of things important that happened, every little detail stands out. I can tell you how Pour Some Sugar was playing with a busted speaker and the bartender was probably in his late sixties. I felt like I was in a Panic! Music video as I plopped down on the ratty bar stool. 

He sat a few stools away from me. He sat there drinking what I guessed was probably water. He was in that ratty purple hoodie he had been in before, his hair was up in a loose ponytail and it looked better on him than I had seen it worn on any women before. Sitting there, gazing into the clear glass of clear water with strands of black and white hair falling in front of his glazed over eyes. I was caught up in some sort of trance, only pulled out by the awfully scratchy voice of the bartender. 

I asked for whatever he was having, and to my surprise, it was club soda. It was disgusting. Taking some drink of it I spit it out nearly gagging on the carbonation. But whilst I was pushing the glass away and trying to get the flavor out of my mouth he laughed. The guy beside me, the guy from days past laughed. 

And let me tell you if angels were real he was one. That laugh felt like such a heavenly thing and oh every part of me wanted to ruin such an innocent laugh. Till he glanced at me with those huge eyes and smiled such a grin that something within my chest stranded. He leaned over, moving seats to sit beside me at the bar. 

“I’m Kuron.” He grinned that smile like an angel. I couldn’t find my words, who was this guy really? Was I dead and is he here to take my soul - then again why would an angel take my soul? I swear I was lost in thought, my lips agape and he only laughed again. 

I would never forget that laugh of his. 

And you know what, to this day I still don’t know why we drank coffee. I know now why he froze when I ran into him but why he showed up in my life not once, not twice but three times. Whoever Kuron is, he’s in my life no for good. For better or worse, he’s my guardian angel who doesn’t do anything without meaning.


End file.
